When Everything Crumbles
by Charmina
Summary: What if the Crossroads Demon couldn't bring Sam back? What if she offered something else? *warnings for language, violence and possibly mentions of abuse*
1. Prologue

Disclaimer // Supernatural belongs to Kripke and probably a lot of other people but I'm not one of them. The prologue got lines taken directly from the episode "All hell breaks lose part 2". You'll recognize them.

Author Notes // The first time in forever that I'm posting a chaptered fic so I'm really hoping to get some feedback to stay motivated. This is an AU that starts of in the episode AHBL part 2 and explores the possibilities of what could have gone differently.

I do not have a beta for this but I hope it won't be too bad. If anyone wants to help me beta then send a word and I'll get back to you!

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**Prologue**

_Everything you do is triggered by an emotion of either desire or fear. _

_--Brian Tracy_

Desperation drew his actions and there was no time to stop and think about what he was doing; this was the only way. Wiping an unwanted tear from his cheek he filled in the hole he had dug and stood back up. He looked right, left, behind him, his fists clenched so hard that his nails dug in to the skin.

"Oh, come on already," he whispered, begged. The night was still silent, black as the grave (_black like Sammy's grave_), and he did not have time for this. "Show your face, you bitch!" he snarled, wishing she was there if only so that he had something to punch.

"Easy sugar, you'll wake the neighbors."

Spinning around his eyes fell on the women behind him. She was shorter then him, her skin creamy white, her dark hair falling in soft curls and her black dress not leaving much out for the imagination. Under different circumstances the sight of her would have him automatically turning on his charms but now, as her demon eyes flashed red, he could only glare.

"Dean," she purred. "It's so, so good to see you." She met his eyes, a gleeful smile on her lips, and slowly started to walk towards him. "I mean it. Look at you," she said, studying him from top to toe as she started circling him. "Gone and got your family killed. All alone in the world. It's too sweet." She leant in closer, so close that her breath should have been tickling his skin, and whispered in his ear, "Excuse me, you're gonna have to give me a moment. Sometimes you gotta stop and smell the roses."

"I should send you straight back to hell," Dean growled, for a moment almost forgetting why he had called her there, and the sound of her giggle made his skin crawl.

"Oh, you should!" she agreed, humor evident in her voice. "But you won't. And I know why."

He turned around to face her, glare in his eyes and his hand itching for the gun in his waistband. "Oh, yeah?"

She smiled again. "Yeah. Following in Daddy's footsteps. You wanna make a deal. Little Sammy, back from the dead." Her head tilted to the side as if an idea had just come to her. "And, let me guess, you're offering up your own soul?"

He took a half step towards her. "There are hundred other demons who'd love to get their hands on it," he said. "And it's all yours. All you gotta do is bring Sam back." His voice almost broke at his brothers name (_his dead brother's name_) but he pushed through and did not let his thoughts linger on what would happen if this did not work. "You give me ten years. Ten years and then you come for me."

"You must be joking," she said with a half-laugh and Dean felt his heart skip a beat.

"It's the same deal you give everybody else," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. _I can't lose Sammy._

"You're not everybody else," she said matter-of-factly. "Why would I wanna give you anything? Keep your gutter soul, it's too tarnished anyway."

"Nine years." He was desperate now, could feel the deal slipping through his fingers, and he did not want to give her anything but he would give the world for Sam.

"No"

"Eight"

"You keep going, I'll keep saying no," she purred, and Dean could see how much she was enjoying this.

"Ok, five years," he said, knowing deep down that he had already lost but it was not the Winchester way to give up without a fight. "Five years, then my bill comes due. That's my last offer. Five years or no deal."

She smiled and pressed up against him, her lips a breath from his, and he dared to hope that he could still pull this of, dared to think of the world with Sam in it again. "Then no deal," she whispered in his ear.

The world stopped. Dean felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut, all his breath leaving him, and he was too shocked, too weak, to try and draw in a new one. _(As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.)_ He failed. He_ fucking_ failed.

The demon had backed away again and was watching him with a small smile on her lips. Turning towards the looming forest on her left she tilted her head and stared out in to the darkness as if listening to something and, slowly, the smile turned in to a leer as she turned back to face Dean.

"How much is seeing Sammy alive worth to you?"

Dean snatched his head back up and stared at her, the response falling easily from his lips. "Everything."

"Good answer," she said. Looking him up and down again, measuring him, she let out a sigh. "I can't bring Sammy back."

"Then why . . ."

"I can't bring Sammy back, but there might be another way."

Dean drew in a deep breath and almost staggered as he felt the world start moving around him again. Suddenly everything was moving too fast, his head was spinning with questions and he did not know where to start. "How?" he finally asked; so many questions squeezed in to one.

"No fun spoiling the surprise. But . . ." she smirked at him, moving her hand in a wage motion, "I have my ways."

He knew he should be more suspicious, knew this was a bad idea, but he could not seem to care. Sam, _his Sammy_, was lying on that bed, _dead_, and what did anything else matter? He could not deal with a world without Sam, he knew that, had _always_ known that, because Sam was his responsibility, his to protect. Without _Sam_ there was no _Dean_.

"And what do you want in return?" he asked, trying to sound like it mattered but knowing that whatever price he would by ready to pay it for one more moment with Sam. _(I'm gonna be the one to bury you.)_

"Exactly what you are offering," she said. "Everything."

There was a moment of silence as the words echoed in his head. _Everything. Everything for Sam_. He knew this was stupid, knew that his little brother would smack him on the head if he knew what Dean was doing, but Sam was not there. Sam was dead, so he did not have a say in the matter. Somehow, everything did not even seem like enough.

"Well, not everything," she said suddenly, as if only just remembering, and smiled at Dean as he met her eye. "I've always had a blind spot for you, Dean. You're like a puppy that I just want to play with." The tip of her tongue poked out and ran lazily over her top lip. Dean wanted to kill her, shot her fucking head of, but he wanted Sam back even more.

"So I'm gonna be nice to you here, give you a break," she continued. "I'm gonna let you keep your soul."

Dean only stared, too shocked to grasp the meaning of her words, and he knew he should back away from this, that it had gone too far, but he could not. If he backed away now Sam would be dead, would always be dead, and what was Dean supposed to do then? What did he care about the world, about consequences, if he was all alone? He had already said it to Bobby, screamed it at him, and even though he had said he was sorry he had still meant it. _(Then let it end!)_

"Don't look so shocked, sugar. You'll understand in time," she said. "And isn't it a fair deal? You get to keep both Sammy and your soul. What else could you ask for?"

And Dean knew she was right, knew that he had already accepted her offer. The hell with consequences! He did not care, not if he got Sam.

In two quick strides he was pressed close to her and with a hand on the back of her neck he crashed his lips against hers, kissing her as if his life depended on it. _Like Sam's life depended on it._

After an eternity, or maybe just a few seconds, he pushed her away and staggered back a few steps. His hand quickly came up to wipe every trace of her of his lips and he spat on the ground for good measure. When he finally looked up again she was gone.

"Nice doing business with you," he mumbled, spat on the ground once more, and turned back around to the Impala.

Only it was not there. It was not anywhere.

"Son of a bitch!"

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	2. Everything For You

Disclaimer // Don't own Supernatural so don't sue!

Author Notes // Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, put this story on alert or even on their favorites list (which I don't know how I've deserved so early in the story). I still don't have a beta for this though, so keep in mind that I'm Swedish and deserve to make a few mistakes

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**Chapter 1 – Everything For You**

_No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, _

_the ones I love will always be the ones who pay._

– _Spiderman_

What should have been a quick ride back had turned in to a panicked run as Dean was trying to get to his brother's side as fast as possible. He should have known that the bitch would take the Impala, leave him stranded in the middle of nowhere without knowing what had happened with his brother, and he was so freaking pissed about not knowing that he had not even gotten to the part where she had stolen _his_ baby.

He knew that his feet were probably hurting and that every breath should feel like sandpaper down his throat but he was strangely numb. There were too many uncertainties in this situation, too many questions marks, and his own body was not that important right now. Sammy was.

What had he really agreed on here? _Everything for his brother?_ What did that mean? Had he just sold the whole world for his brother's life? Sam would so kick his ass if he had. But that would mean that Sam was alive and she had said that she could not bring him back.

_(I can't bring your brother back, but there might be another way.)_

What other way? He had just traded fucking everything to see his brother, his Sammy, alive again when she had already said that she could not bring him back. Where did that freaky equation add up? Damn demon had been messing with his head and he was too stupid to notice. What would he find in that cabin, on that bed, when he returned?

Adrenaline was pumping through his body as he reached the place where he had first parked the Impala on his way to rescue Sam, before the shit had hit the fan. Before Sam had been killed. He pushed harder, let the adrenaline take him over as he ran even faster, wanting nothing more then to see his brother again.

What if Sam really had come back to life and that asshole of a kid that killed him the first time came back for a second go? What if Dean blew this chance of getting Sam back by not being fast enough?

Finally the woods opened up and he could see the small abandoned town stretching out before him. He was so close, just a few more seconds, and he would be back by his brother's side. And, fuck it all, but he was never leaving him again.

He rushed by house number one, two, three, and shit but it felt like time suddenly moved in slow-motion because no matter how fast he moved the house was too freaking far away. He ran by the spot where Sam had been stabbed - had fucking died in his trembling arms - and refused to look down and see all the blood covering the ground. Sam was not dead; he could not be dead because Dean had given away _everything_ for him.

Then the house was there, looking just like the tomb it had been _(could not be anymore, Sam did not need a tomb)_ and he banged the door open so hard it flew of its hinges and clattered to the floor, dust rising in its wake.

And Dean stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest and suddenly he could feel all the aches and scrapes his mind had previously blocked out. Deep breaths were pulled in and out of his lungs as if he had not breathed for years and his whole body trembled with exhaustion and repressed emotions.

On the other side of that door – right in the next room – was his brother and for the first time Dean hesitated. What would he find when he stepped through that door; his brother alive and smiling or dead and cold? Or, maybe, it was something else. Maybe that bitch had brought something else back, something _not Sam_, and stuffed it inside his brothers body. What if he opened that door only to see something evil stare back at him through his brother's eyes?

Forcing his legs to move Dean inched his way over to the door. His fingers trembled as they closed around the doorknob and he could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. His other hand found the gun resting in his waistband and, God, if he did not feel like a traitor for it but he had to be sure. Taking a deep breath he opened the door and stepped inside, only to let the breath out again in a rush as his legs threatened to give out on him.

"No . . ."

Sam was gone.

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The sun had come up hours ago to give way for a beautiful day but for all Dean cared it could just as well have stayed down. All the colors felt faded, grey, and he felt cold to the very center of his being. Shivers ran up and down his body but he could not even find the will power to zip up his jacket.

Finding Sam's bed empty had been so shocking, so unexpected, that all the adrenaline he had been running on had just left his body. It had left him feeling weak and hollow and he did not know how long time it took before he snapped out of it enough to realize that he had sunk down to the floor and that his cheeks were wet and tear-stained. It had probably taken even longer before his strength came back enough to let him really think about the situation and then he had been furious. He had torn down the whole house in his anger and frustration, wanting some sort of release for all the emotions that swirled through his head so fast he could not make sense of them.

Then he had ran outside, wanting to smack himself for being so stupid, because maybe Sam had just woken up, wondered where everyone was and gone looking for them. So he had searched the whole town, screaming his brother's name as he went, but he had found no trace of him anywhere. Not a _single_ trace showing that his brother had ever been there.

That was when he had stopped and really started to think.

The place where Sam had been killed, stabbed in the back, was spotless. A place that should be covered in his brother's blood was so freaking clean he could not even find a drop of blood left.

Someone had cleaned it up.

His thoughts had run to Bobby. He was a hunter, knew how to cover his tracks, so maybe he had cleaned it up, wiping away the evidence of what had happened here before the demon or anyone else came along. Bobby who had wanted to bury Sam.

Anger had taken him over again then as all possibilities ran through his head. What if Bobby had come back after Dean had left, found Sam alone and decided to bury him when he had the chance? What if the fucking idiot had salted and burned his bones?

He had his phone up and ringing before he had even realized what he was doing. But when all Dean got was his voicemail something inside him had snapped. Now he could not really remember word by word what he had said, but he was confident he had used every curse he knew at least five times and invented a couple new ones when the old did not cover what he wanted to say.

After that he had been drained. He had done everything he could to get Sammy back, he had even been ready to give up fucking everything, but where had that left him? Now he had even lost his body.

He did not know when he had started walking or if he had had a plan, but sometime later he had found himself on the highway next to a truck that had pulled over. The driver, a middle-aged man with graying hair, had offered him a ride to the nearest town and Dean had climbed in without answering.

And that was how he now found himself standing on the curb in some unknown town – and he frankly did not care what town it was anyway – trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. He was vaguely aware of the trucker giving him a concerned look before Dean slammed the door close behind him and started walking again.

Sam was gone. Sam was never coming back. Where did that leave him? What was he supposed to do now?

A world without Sam was not something he had ever wanted to imagine, was not something he knew how to deal with, and now he did not have a choice anymore. But it was not fair! He should not have to deal with this! Sam was his baby brother and he should never have been forced to out live him. Sam was the 'normal' one, the innocent one, the one that deserved to live life just the way he wanted to and it was not fair that Dean, the damaged goods, was the one left behind.

He should have left Sam at Stanford.

He knows that Sam would not have agreed, not after Jessica, but if he had not been so egoistic he would have left him behind anyway. Sam would have been safe there and his friends would have helped him to get over Jessica and make him happy again, but Dean had been so happy to have his brother back with him again that he did not care about that. Sam had wanted to come with him and that was all that mattered. And now he hated himself for it.

A rumbling noise from his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten in over a day but he ignored it. The thought of food made him nauseas and he could not imagine sitting down in some cheap diner to eat without Sam there to tell him much of a pig he was. What he would not give to see that disgusted look on Sam's face one more time.

Stopping in his tracks Dean looked around at all the cars driving past and the people walking in and out of stores happily chatting to each other. He felt left out, invisible, like he was not really there only seeing what life should really look like. None of these people had ever seen true evil, none of them knew what went bump in the night and none of them cared that Sam was gone.

He felt drained, exhausted, and just wanted to lie down on a bed and sleep for years. His whole body shook with the effort of just keeping him standing and he felt relieved when he spotted a motel on the other side of the road. Quickly crossing the street he headed straight for the reception only to stop dead in his tracks.

Standing parked in front of one of the motel room doors was the Impala. _The_ Impala. His heart thundered in his chest – tried to beat its way through – as his mind went in to overdrive. What was it doing here? Had that bitch just moved it? Had she given it to someone else?

Who was inside that room?

He ran a shaking hand through his hair and draw in a deep breath trying to calm himself down. This was just a coincidence. What else could it be? That bitch had just given his car away to someone else and that person just happened to be here so she could mess with his head. She was probably watching right now and enjoying every second of his pain.

But, what if it was not?

He took a small step forward – towards the door – and then stopped again. Did he really want to do this? He took one more step. His clenched fists hung limply by his sides and his tongue slipped out to lick his dry lips. He needed to know.

Pushing all hesitation away he almost ran towards the door and knocked hard before he could second-guess his decision. His heart-rate sped up even more, his clenched fists shook uncontrollably and his mind went strangely blank as he heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

The door opened a small crack and Dean tried to see the person on the other side but it was too dark inside the room and the crack was too small to let any light inside. The thought that he should knock the door down and burst in to the room had barely entered his mind when a voice he could have recognized anywhere came out of the room.

"Yeah?"

Dean's whole world stopped and the name slipped over his numb lips. "Sammy"

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	3. Painful Reunion

Disclaimer // Still don't own Supernatural, so don't sue! Oh, and the title for this story comes from a song by Clawfinger. Not that the song has anything to do with the story, I just thought that the title fit.

Author Notes // Thank you to all those reviewing this story, you keep me motivated! And still no beta, still Swedish. Excuses are made!

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**Chapter 2 – ****Painful Reunion**

_He who has a strong enough why to live for, can bear almost any how._

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

Dean was dazed – in shock – and his mind tumbled over all the different scenarios he had pictured of when (_when!_) he got his brother back, how he would hug him and tell him how lost he had been without him or kick the living shit out of him for leaving him behind in the first place. He had pictured how he would not be able to take his eyes of his brother or maybe just get some handcuffs and make sure Sam would not go anywhere without him ever again.

He had not pictured having the door slammed in his face.

It took him a few seconds of staring dumbly at the door before his brain processed what had happened and even then he did not know how to react. His brother (_his dead, missing and now alive brother_) was on the other side of that door and why the hell was it closed?

Spurring himself in to action Dean banged his fists against the door.

"Sam! Sam, what the hell?"

When there was no response Dean got frustrated and that soon warped in to anger. He had never been good at dealing with his emotions, everyone knew that, and so it was easier to just get angry and squash all the other traces of fear and desperation.

"Sam, open the damned door!"

Feeding of his anger Dean decided that he had had enough of this and took a step back before aiming a well placed kick at the offending door. It rattled on its hinges but did not budge. Cursing he kicked again and felt a moment of satisfaction as the door burst open.

Two quick steps had him in the room ready to smack his brother over the head and ask what the hell was wrong with him (_he's alive_) but he stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was dark, the window covered with heavy curtains, and the only light that seeped inside came from the now broken doorframe. On the far side of the room was a door, most likely to the bathroom, a desk and chair stood at Deans left side and at the right side was a bed. It was unmade and messy, the sheets a washed out grey and on top of it was an open, half packed duffle bag.

On the other side of the bed stood his baby brother, alive and breathing, with a gun aimed straight at Dean's chest.

His brother looked different. He was still freakishly tall, his hair long and hanging in his eyes, his frame muscular, but there was something of about him. His jaw was set in a way Dean had never seen before and his eyes, though flashing in warning, seemed blank and empty, not open and honest like the Sam he had always known. For the first time Dean felt the smell of blood in the room and he wished that he could just _wake up_ from this nightmare.

"Sammy? What . . ."

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The words were shot, fast as bullets, and Sam's voice was hard as steel and cold as ice. Dean felt his whole world crash.

"Dean. It's Dean . . . You . . . I'm Dean." The words felt hollow – empty – and left a bad taste in his mouth but he could not think of anything else to say. His brother stood before him, the same brother he thought that he had lost forever, and he could not think of one word to say in a situation like this.

"What do you want? Who sent you?"

This was all so wrong. Sam was tense but in control, his eyes never leaving Dean's and the gun never wavering. He looked so strong and sure of himself in a way that Dean had never seen before, wished that he would never see because Sam was his little brother and he should not have to be this cold. Sam was supposed to be all emotions, all heart on his sleeve and ready to see the grey areas of life, not be like this.

"Sammy, lower the gun," Dean forced out, surprising himself with how calm his voice sounded, and slowly reached out towards his wayward brother.

"Fuck no!"

Dean felt his eyes widen. Sam swore, of course he did, but not like that. Sam swore when the situation really called for it, when he was so pissed he did not know what to do or if life was just that close to feeling like hell, but still not like that.

"Sammy," Dean started, knew he was repeating the name more then what could be considered normal but just could not seem to stop. His brother was standing right in front of him and it just felt so unreal to say the name to his face again.

"And stop calling me that!" Sam yelled and for the first time Dean could see a crack in his armor as his eyes shifted for a second before fastening on him again. "What do you want from me?"

Dean stared at him. What did he want? Sam to lower the gun; to put it away, laugh and say that it was all just a joke? Everything to be that way it had been before the shit hit the fan?

"You," he said, the words a whisper but with enough conviction to make them heard. "I just want you, Sammy."

He saw Sam hesitate, a frown on his face and teeth biting absently on his lip, and Dean wondered if it was all over because he did not how much more he could take.

"Did Gordon send you?"

The words were wary, tense, and they caught Dean by surprise.

"Gordon?"

"Yeah, big black guy. Not my biggest fan."

"Wha . . .? No. No, Gordon didn't send me."

This was not right. Dean needed to wake up, _wake up now_. Things were spinning out of control fast and he felt like he was two steps behind in the conversation and what did Gordon have to do with anything? He was locked up right? Still rotting away in prison?

"Sammy, what's wrong with you?" The words slipped out before he even had time to think about it and he saw Sam studying him closely, measuring him like he was some interesting science project.

"Should I know you?"

And Dean did not think that was the least bit funny.

"What?"

"Should I know you? Have me met before?" Sam asked and Dean felt the world tip sideways but was too weak to hold on. "You're acting like you know me."

Dean really, really wanted to wake up now because he did not think his heart could take this anymore. He felt sick to his stomach, ready to lose what ever was left in it, and the world was spinning so fast he wondered why Sam had not noticed. He leaned back against the broken doorframe, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, and wondered if maybe he had died too and this was simply hell.

"Jesus," he whispered, feeling the weight of every single minute that had passed since Sam had died in his arms.

"Man, who are you?"

Dean looked up at his brother, still holding the gun aimed at his chest, and he thought that he could finally understand how people could die from a broken heart.

That was his brother, his baby brother, the kid he had practically raised himself and he did not even know him anymore. All those years of being brothers had simply vanished from his mind and Dean was now nothing more then a stranger to him. How was he supposed to deal with this? What was he supposed to say?

That bitch had really done a number on him. Everything for his brother, yeah, that had been an easy deal to make but he had never thought this would be the end result. Was he still his brother if he did not remember being it?

"I'm gonna kill her," Dean said, eyes on the floor and fingers itching for a neck to strangle. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill her."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Sam said, shoulders tensing again at the threat in Deans voice. "You do that, but that still don't explain what you're doing barging in to my room."

Dean looked up at Sam again and tried to stop the sadness that seemed to be suffocating him. "I . . . I don't know," he said because, really, what could he say? I'm the brother you don't remember having because I made a deal with the devil and brought you back from the dead? Somehow he did not think that would go over so well.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, right. Just on a whim you go knocking down my door and screaming my fuckin' name, and you don't know why?"

"I'm sorry." _I'm sorry I failed you_

"I'm gettin' fuckin' sick of your shit," Sam said and there was a snarl in his voice now. "Start spilling or get the hell away from me before I decide to test how thick that skull of yours really is."

And no matter how much it hurt Dean really could not see another option. So he pulled himself of the wall – almost crashed to the floor because his legs seemed to shake too much to support him right now – and gave Sam one final long look before he turned around and walked out the door.

He had tried, he really had, but it never seemed to matter. He was willing to sacrifice everything for his brother – was ready to let the world burn to ashes – but he was not ready for this. What was he supposed to do now? Should he try to get to know him all over again, pretend that he did not already know every little quirk of Sam's and that he had not already lived a lifetime as his brother? Or should he give him up? Leave him alone and hope that without Dean there to mess everything up Sam would be able to live that normal apple-pie life that he had always wanted and dreamt about?

Was Dean ready to sacrifice his own selfishness in the hopes that his brother could find happiness without him?

It hurt, it hurt so freaking much that he wanted to rip his own heart out and throw it away so it could never make him feel like this again, but he knew that he would do anything to make his brother happy and if that meant erasing himself from his life then he would do it.

But was Sam happy? He had been tense and cold in a way Dean had never seen him before and that did not read happy in his book. And if Dean had been erased had everything else been too? Was the reason Sam was so on guard because he had woken up suddenly without any memory at all?

But that was not right either because he remembered Gordon (_and how fucked was it that he remember that shit-head but not his own brother?_) and why would he think that someone was after him? With no memories, sure, he would be confused but why would he be so paranoid?

There was something more going on here then just Sam forgetting he had a brother and Dean needed to know what it was before he decided if Sam was better of without him or not. Because, even if Sam did not know it anymore, they were still brothers and he would not leave his brother wide open to attacks, not from Gordon or from anything else that went bump in the night. Sam was his responsibility and if that meant he would have to stalk him for the rest of his life and make sure nothing happened to him without Sam ever knowing that Dean had his back, then so be it. He owed him that much.

His legs had carried him a block away from his brother but he turned right back around again. There had been a diner across the street from the motel and that was as good a place as any to keep watch over his little brother.

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	4. Fight

Disclaimer – Supernatural don't belong to me

Disclaimer – Supernatural don't belong to me. No money is made on this.

Author Notes – Yes, I know, I suck! I'm so sorry that I haven't updated until now but I kinda lost inspiration for this. Not a very good excuse, I know, but it's all I've got. I'll try to do better next time but I won't make a promise I'm not sure I'll be able to keep.

As usual this chapter has not been betad. I've also kinda rushed with getting it out so there might be more mistakes then usual . . . Sorry.

**Chapter 3 – Fight**

_One of us has been drinking, and I'm sad to say it isn't me. _

– _Doyle, Angel season 1_

Dean had never been a big fan of change, he avoided it as long as possible, and he did not like when it was pushed upon him without a fighting chance. Sam was the one who liked change. Dean just did not. He liked things the way they had always been. Change just messed everything up.

He had walked in to the diner forgetting that change had screwed him up again but the (_not_) so nice waitress had been kind enough to inform him. Before she threw him out on his ass because he did not have any money.

Yeah, Dean was not such a big fan of change.

That was why he was now sitting outside thanking whatever lucky star that was still left that he had at least been able to keep his jacket because, damn, it was cold and his brother was taking forever in making an appearance.

Remembering the half packed duffle, Dean had thought Sam would hightail it the minute he had been out of sight but now it had gone almost an hour since he left (_walked away_) and Sam was still in that room. It did not fit, _nothing fit_, and it was driving him mad. Sam had been paranoid, thinking someone was after him, so why did not he run when he had the chance? What the hell was he doing taking so long?

Dean had never been a big fan of change and he was not that fond of patience either.

He had just decided to do something, anything, when Sam stepped out of the motel-room. He looked haggard, weary and just a little too unsteady to be mistaken for sober and when he threw his duffle inside the Impala Dean could not help but hope that he did not intend to drive his baby in that condition. Thankfully Sam seemed logical enough because he slammed the door shut again and started walking down the street, Dean immediately on his trail.

Under normal circumstances Dean would have found the situation funny – Sam wobbling down the street and passer-byes shooting him irritated looks – but the situation was not normal and instead Dean found himself worried. Sam had never been a heavy drinker and the few times he had been well and truly drunk it had been because life had screwed him over yet again. A drunk Sam usually meant something bad had or would be happening very soon Dean decided as he stopped outside the biker-bar his brother had just entered. He frowned at the sign declaring it "Gary's dump", if the "r" and "u" had still been working, before he entered.

It was dark inside, the few lamps faded, and it smelled heavily of beer and sweat. It was still pretty empty, dusk had only just begun to set outside, but a few bikers were sitting at the bar nursing their beers and a small group had taken over the pole-table and playing an increasingly louder game. He spotted his brother leaning over the bar talking with the bartender and within a few moments three shots of tequila and a beer were placed in front of him. Dean frowned as the first two shots were knocked back within seconds before his brother stumbled over to a table with the two remaining glasses.

Making his way over to the bar Dean kept a wary eye on his brother who seemingly intended to drown himself in alcohol.

"What would it be?"

Dean faced the bartender, noticing that he probably rivaled Sam in height but added a lot in weight, and gave a charming smile. The bartender did not seem impressed.

"Just a beer," he said and sat down on one of the high chairs. He took a small sip of the cold liquid as it was delivered before sneaking another glance at his brother.

Sometime during the last minute Sam had apparently decided that the last shot of tequila was too tempting to be ignored and was now nursing the very last of his beer. Dean frowned again and took another sip of his own beer. Sam was clearly out to get as wasted as possible and that was so unlike his brother that Dean did not know what to make of it. He also noted that the Sam he knew would have passed out a long time ago. He had never been a big drinker.

Glancing back again Dean felt his stomach drop as he watched Sam making his way towards the bikers by the pole-table. They had apparently noticed too because they all stopped talking and watched as Sam made his way over, knocking over a few chairs in the process. When he finally got there he seemed to pull himself together and faced the biggest guy in the group. Dean could not hear what he said but, judging by the others faces and clenched fists, he decided that it was not something nice. Half a second later his fears were confirmed as the guy took a swing right at Sam's head.

Dean was out of his seat and racing towards his brother in a heart-beat, hardly noticing that Sam had somehow managed to duck and retaliate despite being so drunk it was a wonder he could even stand up straight. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head but they all seemed to come together and form a single mantra (_savesammysavesammysavesammy_) as he threw himself head first in to the fight and managed to knock two guys unconscious before the first blow even hit him. But despite the ringing in his ears and the blood pumping through his veins – and leaking from his split lip – all he could hear and all he could think was the same mantra over and over again (_savesammysavesammysavesammy_).

Slamming one of the bikers head against the wall and kicking the other between the legs Dean finally pulled himself together enough to look for Sam amidst all the fighting. His brother was on top of the pole-table wrestling with the first guy and throwing punches left and right but, as Dean watched, the guy finally got his arm free enough to slam it right in to Sam's unprotected stomach.

Dean could hear himself screaming but the sound was muffled like he was under water. Time seemed to slow down and it felt like it took him forever to reach his brothers side and pull the biker of him even if it probably only took a second (_savesammysavesammysavesammy_). Looking down on his brother he quickly noted that Sam had a split lip, a small cut on his forehead and he was still trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him and it all mounted up to one thought. Sam was hurt. Someone had hurt his Sammy.

Suddenly time sped up again and all the noise came crashing back as a growl rumbled up inside him and leaked out between his clenched teeth. Someone had hurt his brother. No matter that Sam had very clearly gone there in search of a fight because no one, _no one_, had the right to lay a hand on his brother. Spinning around he felt ready to kill every single son of a bitch that even looked at his brother the wrong way. The three remaining bikers obviously noticed the danger glinting in his eyes because they all hesitated for a split second before moving towards him.

But the fight came to an abrupt halt as a shot was fired and they all spun around to see the bartender holding a rifle and looking about ready to aim it somewhere else then at the ceiling.

"Get the hell out of my bar and take that drunk with you," he said to Dean and threw a glare in the direction of Sam who was trying to get of the pole-table.

Eying the rifle warily, making sure it never pointed towards his brother, Dean made his way over to Sam, hoisted him up and draped his arm over his shoulders. Sam protested a bit, tried to push Dean away, but he was probably too tired or too drunk (_or both_) and soon gave up.

Sam had not been small since that horrible growth spurt when he had, practically over night, become taller then his big brother so it was with a lot of effort that Dean half dragged, half carried him out of the bar. Not really sure where they were going Dean kept on moving just to give himself something to do. His mind was spinning, trying to get a grip on the whole crazy situation. Here he was, dragging his wasted little brother that had been dead just twenty-hours ago but was now somehow alive because Dean had sold everything to the devil and that somehow included Sam's memory of having a big brother. Oh, yeah, this was a really normal situation.

Spotting the Impala Dean decided that it might clear his head a little to take a drive, get back out on to the road, and so made his way over as quickly as his little brother made possible. Leaning Sam – who could probably be labeled '_passed out_' if it was not for the fact that he managed to stay standing – against the car Dean did a quick search of his pockets and soon found the key.

Unlocking the car he cast his brother a look before hoisting him up again and walking around the Impala. "Come on, little brother, just a few more steps."

When Sam was firmly placed in his seat, head resting against the window and chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, Dean started the car and drove slowly out of the small town. On one hand he was happy that Sam had already put his bag in the car before going to the bar, saving Dean the trouble of packing it himself, but on the other hand he wondered if Sam had known that he might need to make a quick exit out of town.

Sighing and rubbing a hand over his face Dean wished he knew what the hell was going on. He had given up _everything_ for Sam but the demon had said she could not bring Sam back. So the Sam sitting in the seat next to him was not Sam. But he sure as hell looked and sounded like Sam except the swearing, the coldness, the fighting and drinking, which, really, was nothing like Sam at all.

But even though Dean might admit that he was not always the smartest guy in the world (_Sam's the brain in the family_) there was one thing he knew better then anyone else, and that was his brother. And even though this Sam acted so differently Dean knew it was Sam, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, taste it on the tip of his tongue.

So where did that leave him? He knew this was Sam even if it clearly was not _his_ Sam (_I can't bring Sammy back_). Was this some kind of dream like when he had been attacked by that djinn? Was all of this his imagination? But then why did not Sam remember him? Sure, the djinn's dream-world had not been perfect but it was not as messed up as this.

"No"

Dean snapped his head around to look at his brother. He was sleeping restlessly, squirming and clenching his eyes shut as if trying to block out what ever it was he was dreaming about.

"No, stop it."

The words were only whispers, slipping out between shaking lips, but to Dean they could just as well have been yelled. Sam had always had nightmares and it had probably always hurt Dean just as much as his brother but, somehow, this time they hurt more then usual. The last days had been spent with only one thought on his mind (_Save Sammy_) and he had done everything in his power to keep to that (_Everything for Sam_) but nightmares was the one thing he knew he could never defeat.

Reaching out a hand towards his brother, deciding that even if he could never stop the nightmares completely he could stop this one, he was about to shake his brother awake when another whisper stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Please, don't hurt me anymore."

Dean could feel his heart skip a beat as the words registered. Closing his eyes for a second, trying to remain composed, he then reached the last inch and shock Sam's shoulder gently.

"Sammy, it's alright. It's just a dream," he said. "Nothing's going to hurt you."

Sam's eyes clenched a little tighter for a moment before he relaxed and with a sigh curled up tighter in his seat. His chest once again rose and fell with a steady rhythm.

Dean looked at him for another second before he felt satisfied that his brother was alright for now. Turning back towards the road ahead his hands clenched white-knuckled around the steering-wheel.

"It's alright, little brother," he whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you."


	5. I Found You But I Lost You

Disclaimer – I still do not own Supernatural, just playing around for fun.

Author Notes – Yes, well, surprise! I seriously thought I had abounded this story but then some evil little plot-bunny came and knocked me over the head and suddenly I had thousands of new ideas for this fic. Don't know if that is good or bad, or if I'll be able to finish it this time around but I'll try at least.

With that in mind I would really love to hear from anyone that reads this! Does anyone want me to continue or is this more the kind of story you read when you are bored out of your mind and can't find anything better? Tell me!

Oh, and I've decided to add a warning just incase! There will be cases of strong language, violence and possibly mentions of abuse. I haven't really decided on the last one yet but now you're warned just incase.

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**Chapter 4 –**** I Found You But I Lost You**

_This is not the end. This is not the beginning of the end. _

_But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning._

– _Winston Churchill_

Dean kept driving all through the night because his mind was spinning too fast to be able to focus on anything other then keeping the car on the road. He felt exhausted but at the same time wide awake because there was just so much to take in. Like his dead but now alive little brother by his side.

Sam had still not stirred but kept sleeping in the seat next to him, head leaning against the window and chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and if it was not for the occasional mumbling, too soft for Dean to make out, he would have thought he was unconscious. Come to think about it, Dean realized with a frown, it had been some time since Sam last mumbled anything in his sleep.

Wanting to make sure that his brother was still alright and had not slipped in to unconsciousness he gently reached out a hand to shake Sam's shoulder but as soon as he touched him Sam was suddenly wide awake, shooting up from his slumped position and his hand wrapping around Dean's wrist so tight that he stopped the blood-flow. His eyes flashed dark with warning as he scooted backwards against the passenger-side's door.

"Where are you taking me?" Sam hissed, eyes flickering to the road before settling on Dean's again.

"Nowhere," Dean responded carefully, voice low as he tried to make himself seem open and honest. He studied Sam's face as his eyes once again flickered towards the road ahead. Dean had been a light sleeper for as long as he could remember, you had to be if you wanted to survive in his line of work, and he could go from sleeping to awake in a second but he knew that what Sam had just done was something different. He had gone from seemingly sleeping to being completely aware of the situation around him in a millisecond. Dean wondered how long Sam had really been awake and had just been observing.

"Yeah, sure, that's why we're in a moving car," Sam snarled. "Try again!"

Dean swallowed, his eyes glancing between Sam and the road as his hand slowly went numb, and then drew in a long breath.

"You got in a fight with a bunch of nasty ass bikers, remember, and I had to pull you away before they killed you. Didn't seem like such a good idea to stay in that town," Dean explained in a mix of truths and half-truths.

Sam glared at him a moment longer before he let go of Dean's wrist. "So you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" he sneered. "What are you, a fucking boy-scout?"

Dean wiggled his fingers to get the feeling back in them and focused on the road. It was too hard to look at Sam and not see his innocent, loving little brother looking back at him but instead this cold and distant replica of him.

"No, not a boy-scout just a," Dean hesitated, "friend."

The laugh that tore it self from Sam's throat was loud and barking and lacking any real humor. "A friend?" he said with a nasty smile and chuckled." Forgive me if I'm not jumping with joy."

He looked out the window at the road ahead of them again and squinted his eyes. "So, you still haven't told me who the hell you are?"

Dean glanced at him, saw that even if Sam would appear calm to anyone else Dean could see that he was alert and ready for anything that might happen. His left hand's thumb was drumming a silent rhythm against his leg and his lips were a little too tense to be completely relaxed. Even if it hurt him that Sam could not feel safe around him it still comforted Dean a little that some things had not changed. Sam was still Sam.

"Um . . . I'm no-one special just . . ." Dean thought quickly and hoped that he did not screw this up, "a fellow hunter."

A millisecond later and he knew that he had said the wrong thing. Sam's whole body tensed up, his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes flashed towards Dean's. They did not look human anymore, more like an animal that had been cornered and decided that the only way to survive was to go on the offense. Kill or be killed. His lips curled in to a snarl, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the car, and a low growl rumbled from his chest.

"A hunter," he whispered, words sounding more lethal then anything Dean had ever heard before.

Dean backtracked as fast as he could, trying to find a way out of what ever mess he had made but not finding one. "Yeah, um . . . you know . . . good-guy, like in rescuing-innocent-people-from-bloodthirsty-demons kind of good-guy."

"A fucking hunter," Sam snarled and suddenly Dean saw how his hand, that had unclenched and was now resting against the glow-compartment, made dents in to the very solid material.

Dean's eyes snapped up to Sam's, scared and confused and _what the hell was going on_, and he could hardly recognize his little brother anymore. There was wild uncontrollable rage shining in his eyes in a way Dean had never seen before, had never even been able to picture because Sam was the epitome of calm and controlled. This, this was something else, this was –

And suddenly the passenger-side's door was open and Sam jumped, _fucking jumped_, out of the moving car. Before Dean even had the chance to think he had stepped on the breaks, the tires screeching against the deserted road, and jumped out of the car to race back along the road, _back towards Sam_.

His heart beat frantically in his chest as his feet pounded along the road. In his mind he could see Sam bloody and broken – torn apart – from the fall (_the fucking jump_) and was that really fair? He got his brother back after giving up the world to the devil only to have his baby brother die because he jumped out of a moving car.

But Sam was already on his own feet and running in the same direction, _away from Dean_, as if his life depended on it.

"Sam, SAMMY, stop!" Dean screamed, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He had already lost his brother once, sold everything to get him back, and he was not going to lose him again. Nothing else mattered – not even the fact that for a second Dean had almost feared him, feared that animalistic rage shining in his eyes – because it was his brother, his responsibility and no matter what was wrong he could fix it. He _had_ to fix it!

"SAM!"

And then, miraculously, Sam stopped, pivoting around to face Dean as he skidded to a halt a dozen feet away and Sam raised his hand, palm directed like a stop-sign. As far as Dean could see there was only a small scrape on his left cheek but other then that there was no sign that Sam had just jumped out of a moving car.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Sam yelled as his other hand clenched and unclenched by his side.

"I can't do that, Sammy."

"And stop calling me that!"

Suddenly the ground shock under Dean's feet and small cracks formed in the asphalt between them. His mouth dropped open as he stared in to his little brothers eyes – his little brother that did not seem to be the least bit aware that the ground was _freaking_ shaking – and finally he saw past the rage in Sam's eyes. _Fear_. Blind, all consuming fear stared back at him.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," he said, at a loss for words but needing to apologize even if he did not really know what for.

Sam seemed to falter for a second, a frown creasing his forehead as he stared in to Dean's eyes, before his own flickered away and gave a quick look over his shoulder at the empty road behind him. He met Dean's gaze again, stared a second longer before the glare came back into his eyes.

"Stay away from me," he hissed. "Don't follow me. If I ever see you again I'll fucking slit your throat." He threw one more look over his shoulder and then looked at Dean again. "Stay away from me!"

And then, just like that, he turned right and ran straight in to the dark forest. A second later and Dean could not even hear his movements anymore.

He stayed like that for an eternity – or maybe just a few minutes. The first rays of sunshine were creeping up over the horizon and chasing away the darkness for yet another day but Dean did not notice. Sam was gone. _Again._ He had lost him.

For the first time he seriously started to doubt his decision. _Everything for Sam_. Yeah, that was an easy deal to make when you were not thinking straight. He had been ready to sacrifice himself and everyone else – _the fucking world_ – but he had not been ready to sacrifice Sam. And now, it seemed, that was exactly what he had done.

Sam may be alive but at what cost? He was obviously alone, he drank like Dean had never seen before, he picked a fight with bikers both bigger and larger in number then him and he was scared. There was no mistaking the look Dean had seen in his eyes, Sam was freaking terrified.

The problem was that Dean did not know why he was scared. He had been paranoid from the start and he had mentioned Gordon but the true fear did not come until Dean had said he was a hunter. But why would Sam fear hunters? Sure, Gordon was a bad egg and there were probably more of those but hunters in general? Hunters were good-guys. Why would Sam have a reason to fear them?

And what about the ground shaking? Dean looked down and took in the sight of all the cracks and holes that littered the asphalt before him. Had Sam done it? Sure, Sam had his visions and stuff and that one time when he claimed to have moved a wardrobe without touching it, but this? Was it really possible that Sam could do something like this?

A shiver of fear ran up Dean's spine. If Sam really could do this then what else could he do?

No, there were too many questions and too few answers. Dean shock his head and stared in to the forest. Maybe he had lost Sam once again but he was sure that if he had found Sam this time then he sure as hell could find him again. But not right now. First he needed some answers. If Sam was this changed then probably other things had changed too and he needed to know what.

So, for now, _answers_ and then he could go search out his wayward brother again.

The sound of a car in the distance made him look up. Some old truck came driving down the road from the other direction, slowing down when the driver noticed the Impala parked in the middle of the road with both doors open and skid-marks all over the road behind it. Finally the driver noticed Dean too and drew past the Impala to stop beside him. Rolling down the window a man in his late fifties with unruly grey hair and beard stared at him with concern.

"You alright, son?" he asked, his voice gruff and sounding like it was used to shouting. When Dean did not answer the driver looked him up and down, clearly searching for some sort of injury, and then met Deans tired gaze again. "You need any help?"

Dean sighed, stared after his lost brother one more time, and then turned and headed towards the Impala.

"Yeah," he said. Help was definitely something that he needed right now and he only knew one person that could give it to him.

It was time to pay Bobby a visit.

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	6. Bobby Singer

Disclaimer – Don't own so don't sue!

Author Notes – This chapter is dedicated to Dubhe666 who sent me a review and talked for a bit and, amazingly enough, got me interested in this story again three years after I had practically given up on it. Can't promise that my interest will last but at least the story got another chance!

**Chapter 5 – Bobby Singer**

_Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy. Maybe it was the 60's. Or maybe I was just a girl... interrupted. _

_- Susanna, Girl Interrupted_

The drive to Bobby's felt like it took ages even though he arrived just after noon the same day. When he had decided that Bobby's was where he was headed he had not been all that surprised to notice that he had been unconsciously heading there all along and that the seemingly random rights and lefts he had been taking had all lead him towards that destination. Even in his shocked and confused state his subconscious had obviously know where the only safe-haven was.

Driving up the path towards the house Dean felt himself slowly relaxing for what was probably the first time since this whole mess started. Bobby's had always been kind of home, or at least as close to it as their life had allowed it to be, and since the world had just taken another turn to the crappy side it felt good to be here of all places.

He stopped right in front of the house and turned the ignition off, taking a moment as the Impala's rumbling faded out and the world went quiet around him. Scrubbing a hand over his tired face he then got out of the car and headed towards the door.

God, he was so damn tired. He had not slept since this mess started and now his limbs felt too heavy to move. Maybe he could just crash on Bobby's couch for a few hours and get some rest before he had to start and try to sort out this mess.

He was just about to step up on to the porch when the door opened and Bobby himself was standing before him.

Bobby and his shotgun.

Dean only had a split second to realize this before he had to throw himself out of the way as the gun went of.

"Woah, wait, fuck!" he screamed as he ducked down behind the car. "The fuck's wrong with you?"

Another blast went of and the passenger-side window burst in to thousnads of pieces.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled because, fuck, you do not fire at his baby. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Who the hell are ya and what the fuck are you doin' here you sonofabitch?" Bobby yelled back and when Dean raised his head to look over the hood of the car Bobby fired of another shot.

"Fuck!" Dean screamed and only just managed to duck again. "Stop shooting you blind maniac!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Are you insane? It's Dean, I'm Dean, now stop shooting!"

Everything went quiet again and Dean took a moment to calm his speeding heart down before slowly looking over the hood again. Bobby was still standing there with his gun up and aimed but he did not look like he was going to shot this time so Dean slowly got up on his feet, making sure his hands were visible the whole time.

Finally getting a good look at the other man he was a bit surprised.

Dean knew that he probably looked like shit – he sure as hell felt like it – but Bobby did not look much better himself. The man looked like he had aged at least ten years and even if he had always been rockin' the scruffy style this was taking it a bit too far with several holes in his shirt and his hat looking dirtier than ever before. Dean was not always the cleanest of people but right now even he would not touch that thing with a ten foot pole.

"Well, aren't we looking nasty this morning," he said and tried for a smile but it felt more like a grimace on his face. "Gonna let me in anytime soon?"

Bobby glared at him and Dean did not think he appreciated the joke.

"I dunno any Dean."

Ok, so Dean was tired. He was tired and hungry and he had just sold out the world for a brother that did not want anything to do with him and the world was freaking shit and he really did not feel up for this right now. So the whole world had forgotten about him, peachy.

"Bobby, please," he said and scrubbed his face again. "I really can't deal with anymore shit right now."

It was silent for a moment and then he saw Bobby relaxing a bit. Oh, the gun was still up and aimed but he still looked a little less ready to actually fire.

"You the guy on the phone?"

Dean just stared at him in confusion and Bobby huffed in irritation.

"Got a message on the phone," Bobby started to explain. "Some crazy idjit blaming me for stealing a body or burning it or something. Sounded pretty mad about it. Called himself Dean."

And yeah, suddenly Dean remembered calling Bobby in a panic when Sam's body was missing and he had probably sounded a bit on the crazy side. It was not his best moment.

"Yeah, that's me," he said, too tired to really care anymore.

"Found the body, did you?"

Dean's answering chuckle was anything but happy. "Turned out not to be as dead as I had thought."

Bobby regarded him for a second and apparently he found what he was looking for because with a sigh he lowered his gun. "Ya gonna come in or what?" he snapped before turning on his heal and walking in to the house.

Dean stared after him for a second before sighing and following after him.

He did not appreciate the water dumped on him the second he stepped over the threshold but he could not really say that he was surprised.

"Yeah, so not a demon," he said as he wiped the water out of his eyes but Bobby only hummed as he walked farther in to the room and sat down by his desk.

Dean followed after, purposely walking over the carpet he knew hid a devil's trap, and sat down on the worn couch.

"So who the hell are you then?" Bobby asked and took a sip of the beer he had pulled out of nowhere. Dean really wanted one too – heck, he fuckin' deserved one – but he did not think Bobby would appreciate him asking.

"And why the hell are you driving around in Winchester's car?"

That got a reaction out of Dean and he snapped his head up to stare at the older man. "You know Sam?"

Bobby huffed. "Every hunter knows Winchester. Not everyone knows what car he drives but I guess I'm just lucky like that." He took another swig of his beer. "Am I right in guessing he's the body that wasn't really dead?"

"Yeah, " Dean responded, still a bit in shock. "Yeah, he was."

Bobby nodded. "Pity that."

Dean could feel the weight settling in his stomach and he knew that he would not like where this was going. "What do you mean?"

The older man put his drink down and looked up at Dean. "Well, you were trying to kill him right?" When Dean only stared at him blankly Bobby frowned. "I thought you were a hunter."

It was more a statement than a question.

"I – I am," Dean said. "I, um, I guess I just haven't been informed about him."

Bobby stared a moment longer before shaking his head and picking up his drink again. He took a long swig from it before he started talking again. "Winchester's a rotten egg," he said and Dean had to bite his tongue to not defend his brother. "His dad was a hunter, a damn good one too, and the kid seemed ok at first. He was a bit on the quiet side and a bit jumpy but hell if I've ever met a kid smarter than him" He seemed lost in thoughts for a moment but soon shoke himself out of it and kept talking. "But there was something wrong with him. His dad, John, noticed it first but he did not say anything. Was afraid what would happen if other hunters found out. But shit went south fast and before we knew it John was dead."

Dean could not have stopped the gasp from leaving him even if he had tried. His dad had been dead for awhile now but it still hurt to think about him and the sacrifice he had made, damn it.

"Awhile later I got a letter," Bobby continued. "It was from John. He must have sent it just before he died." He took another swig of his beer. "Turns out the kid wasn't his. I'm not sure about the details but somehow he's part demon. Can walk through traps and holy water doesn't do shit but he's not human. John tried to raise him right but the kid turned bad and killed him anyway."

Dean could only shake his head. It was not possible. Sam was . . . Well, _Sam_. He was not some sort of demon. He was too nice, too gentle to ever be something that evil. And he would never kill dad. Not in a million years. They may have fought sometimes but Sam had still respected him and loved him and he could never have done something like that. They had got it wrong. Somehow the information had been twisted into lies. It had to have been.

_(I can't bring Sammy back, but there might be another way.)_

"No," he choked out and suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. "No, that fuckin' bitch." He fisted his hands in his hair, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to shake the thought out of his head but it did not work. "What have I done?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He snapped his head up to stare at Bobby again. Bobby, the man who was like his second father but now did not know who he was, just like his brother, and shit the world really had gone to hell.

Or had Dean?

One thing was becoming clear. This was not about other people forgetting him anymore. This was about the whole world suddenly being different and somehow he was not a part of it.

God, he really fuckin' needed a drink!

"Bobby," he started and looked at the other man. "This is gonna sound crazy but I need you to listen for a moment, okay?" When all he got in response was a hard stare he took it as a yes.

"I messed up. Big time. Like, fucked the whole world up, kinda big time," he said. "Shit went to hell so I tried to fix, it even if you told me not to, but that just screwed it up even more."

"I didn't – " Bobby started but Dean cut him of with a wave of his hand.

"No, wait, just listen," he said. "Sam died. Some guy stabbed him – and if I ever get my hands on that fucker I'll gut him open – and he died in my arms. And I couldn't take it, you know, couldn't stand being the only one left so I had to fix it somehow and going to a crossroads-demon was the only thing I could think of."

He could see the flash of surprise in Bobby's eyes, saw him tense up, but he had to get it all out now because if he stopped he felt like he would never be able to again.

"She was a bitch, they always are, but then she asked me what it was worth and I told her the truth. Everything." He laughed but there was no humor in it. "And I got my deal. I got him back. Only it wasn't Sam anymore and he didn't even know me, and you don't either and the world is fuckin' crazy. Nothing's like it used to be and I don't know what to do anymore, Bobby."

"But even if it's all crazy I would do it again in a heart-beat. 'Cause Sam, I'd do anything for him, Bobby. Anything" He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself before he turned and stared Bobby right in the eye.

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," he said. "And Sam's my little brother."

He held his breath as Bobby snatched up the shotgun and aimed.


End file.
